The Aging

Posted on May 11, 2012 by

It’s been a long two months. I feel like I have aged years. Escapism and optimism are my coping mechanisms. It’s too late for sorrows. There is no room for despair. My faith gives me strength.

Since caring for my father’s welfare, I’ve dealt with eight different facilities. Whether it’s his bad temper or his failing health, there is always something that needs monitoring. Appointment of his conservatorship is a long and arduous process. I am set to appear in court next month. Everyday I wonder, why me?

My aging aunt remains on her high horse expecting respect for her care of my father. She has taken all his assets and left him with nothing. Yet, she wants praise for being the only one who cared for him. That was her choice and no one asked her to do it. She was once of the kindest person I knew. Now she is as lost as my father, beyond help.

My ex husband has been a constant harassment. He asked me to assist him in his application for removal of green card restrictions. I withdrew from the process the moment we separated. For weeks he would use the guise of friendship to make plans with me. Then somewhere within our conversations he would manage to ask me for a favor. It was always something he needed. I ignored him for most of March.

By April divorce was demanded without wanting to settle financially. One afternoon he said it was very important that we speak.  His charm set in, and he offered to bring me dinner after I got off of work. With the stress of my father, I thought I nice dinner would help my mood. It was neither nice nor helpful. I went on to ignore him.

One day he decides to offer a large lump sum to settle all further claims. I quickly agreed. Thinking my marriage is finally behind me, he sends me an email to say he couldn’t come up with the money. Then he wants to renegotiate. No thank you. I’m not in the mood for his games.

He drifted back into my ghosts and I thought I had some breathing room to focus on getting my life back on track. No such luck. Two weeks ago, I was notified by my attorney that two motions were filed to reduce my support and bifurcate my marriage. That sneaky bastard blind sided me again to get out of finalizing the finances.

After I reviewed my options with my attorney, I realized I had to settle. The losses were inevitable. My best chance is to minimize them. Since I could no longer speak with my ex, I paid my attorney to negotiate on my behalf. She managed to get him to agree to terms which were favorable to me. Instead, the next day he retracted his agreement and said he would wait for court. That was a waste of $500.

In order to further represent me, my attorney required another $2,500 retainer. It would cost more to have representation than the settlement itself. My first instinct was withdrawal from the process.  Even though it puts me at a disadvantage, the emotional and financial costs were too high to put up a fight. At least that is what I thought when I went to sleep Wednesday night.

The next morning I woke up with a great level of clarity. If I represented myself ,I had a fair fight to get what I deserved. I called out of work, AGAIN, so I could complete my response to the motions. (The deadline is today.) Working all morning to collect my thoughts and gather facts, I was feeling confident that I had a decent case.

No sooner, my ex chimes back in to discuss settlement. I can’t take this anymore! This man continues to make my life difficult. I need to be done with it and move on. He is toxic. After a few emails back and forth we reached a financial agreement. It’s fair, based on the current circumstances. My only concern is that he agrees to a single payment to finish the support and stop garnishments. I have to take a leap of faith that he will honor this contract. I wouldn’t be shocked if I were cheated. I can’t believe I fell for this guy.

With all this drama I’m dealing with, work has been great, or so I thought. Before all this family fiasco, I led our department numbers to above plan sales goals. I confidently believe that my organization made our denim department explode in the last few months. Between my customer service approach and my product knowledge, I garner respectable sales.

Confident in my abilities a few weeks back I initiated dialog to discuss growth opportunity. If my alimony would stop I need a boost in income. I began with my sales manager, Mary, who supported my ambitions. I got the ear of another mid-level manager, Sharon, who also made suggestions. The next step was my store manager, Gail. She is a tough one. Her actions are unpredictable. She’s icy hot, no way of telling what you’ll get. I think she’s a bitch.

I decided to write her an email, which is my best form of communication. I tried to modestly point out my accomplishments and strengths, ending with specific roles I would excel in. My style was nice, and my grammer checked. If she wasn’t impressed then she will never be. That is not a statement of my performance, but on hers.

Every week Gail walks the floor with the visuals manager. They comment on the clothes and their appearance. The two of them together pick at everything. They never say great job. They save that for the morning rally when things are generalized. I greet Gail and she responds, no mention of my email. Hmmm…

My department alone has many issues. Yesterday I was trampled by a rolling rack. This was in the stockroom that failed many safety violations. Operationally we are old school, don’t replace it until it dies. We have four of eight lights out in this stock room. They other stock room has a leaky roof. Buckets sit beneath all the time. That’s classy. They won’t even give me air freshener to hide the musty smell.

Right before I am off, I have to go to the executive office to complete an accident report. I wanted to go home. I was achy from the accident. We called some hotline that took a report of the case. I had to speak to a nurse and discuss my condition. Mary, my manager, sat with me the entire time. Just when I thought I finished, Mary pulls me into a room so we can talk without being interrupted. This must be serious.

Mary begins with how she can no longer ‘go up to bat’ when I am making an ongoing series of meal violations. State law mandates that I must go to lunch before (gosh I don’t even know the rule) an extended period of time within my shift. When I fail to clock out before I am paid extra money, but warned by management that it is a bad thing.

I don’t do these violations on purpose. It’s hard for me to walk away from a sale. Since my start date I have received nine meal violations. That’s pretty neglectful. I’m averaging three a month in the last two months. This is the third time I am asked to sign a paper saying I acknowledge meal violations are against company policy and create an action plan to improve the issue.

Here’s the catch, I was given a day off paid to complete this form. The suspension is now on my file for the next year. Are they trying to create a paper trail? I’m assured by my manager that this is protocol. Urban legend around the store is that people get fired for meal violations. We all know they are not tolerated.

Now I have to complete my response to the write up. I will take responsibility for my actions and their repercussions. Most of all, I am sorry to my department who constantly has to cover for me. I work with a great team. Absence is becoming my M.O.. Not good! Better lay off the promotion talk and work on showing up and following my schedule.

My income is futile. I’m going to find a way to what I love to do. I’ve gained valuable lessons when I posed with challengea. I will contemplate on it while I sit here on ice, feeling old and damaged. A paid day off is not such a bad thing, aye?

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My Father’s Daughter

Posted on March 15, 2012 by

This is the first day in over a month that I feel I have to myself. I vaguely mentioned I had been dealing with big issues. Things are clearer to what transpired. I am overwhelmed that it has fallen on my lap. I am saddened that I am dealing with this alone.

Over a month ago, I received a message from my aunt, Olivia, who is 79 years old. Olivia has a close a relationship with my father and over the last decade been overseeing his care and finances. My father, Richie, had burned everyone around him that left him alone and isolated in the Las Vegas desert. Richie also suffers from Alzheimer’s in addition to a string of medical problems. But that bastard is strong. He’ll probably outlive me.

In this message, Olivia had informed me that my father was in the hospital. This was followed by a series of calls from social workers trying to put together a picture of this unknown patient. By the time I had received the messages they were at least a week old, ending in mean message from Olivia that I was not welcomed in her home. No surprise there.

Once word got around, my eldest sister Lana quickly jumped in and devised a string of plans that made no sense. We all knew that Lana did not have the capacity to follow through on these plans. But, like a hurricane that is set in direction, you had to let it pass.

Two weeks went by and the tension grew between my immediate family. Lana would not let go of the reigns and was upsetting everyone. Yet, my mother kept looking at me with eyes of despair because nothing had been done for my father. Although he is not in any of our lives, my mother feared that the neglect would somehow reflect the care she would receive in a similar situation.

With much hesitation, I set off to Las Vegas. Seeing my father for the first time after years was heart wrenching. He did not recognize me and kept mumbling strange and paranoid statements. I cried for the first hour, as this frail old man gazed at me in confusion. The case worker had said that the courts mandated he had to be released within the next two days.

That night my Olivia had told the home care nurse, Sherry, to let me in my father’s home. Sherry had already had it out with Lana and approached me with attitude. All I wanted was to get inside his home, collect some clothing, and be on my way. I refused to engage with Sherry and her trailer park mouth. This is the woman Olivia had put complete trust into?

Once I got in I was once shocked by the horrible state of his home. Back in the day my father was meticulous, everything had it’s place. Most of his artwork was gone. There were piles of clothes in every corner of every room. The kitchen was bare. The cupboards that once stored dishes and glassware were filled with nick knack’s and notes. I couldn’t find a glass to have a glass of water.

Since Sherry had left with the key I had not way to lock the home to leave. His thermostat was locked and I would not turn the heat. It was 55 degrees inside. I was cold, alone, and trying my best to stay strong and get through this. Luckily, I had purchased beer before arriving and filled myself with beer and cigarettes. I eventually passed out.

Not being able to sleep well, I was up with the sun. By 6:00am I was at Home Depot looking to change his locks. I eventually got back into the gated community. By 7:00am the locks were changed and I was out of this horrific prison my father had spent the last decade.

When I arrived to the hospital the case worker had found a board and care that would take my father. I visited this proposed place and was instantly disgusted by the quality of this home and the abilities of the on site staff. At that point I knew I had to take him with me to buy some time and figure things out.

By that afternoon we were driving back to Los Angeles. The drive went well. About half way home my father told me he loved me. I seriously can’t remember when he ever told me that. My happiness was was quickly taken away when my father propositioned me to bed. He does that to all women. It didn’t matter. I was doing the right thing.

Arriving to LA around 7:00pm my father became increasingly agitated when the sun went down. His sailor mouth came back as he cursed any car that got in our way. When we finally arrived I noticed he was wet and needed to be changed. Yes, the man is incontinent. I told my father that we needed to change him before we sat down for dinner. This is when the first battle began.

This frail old man yelled, “I’m going to kick your ass!” I yelled back restraining him, “You did that plenty of times when I was an innocent kid.” Finally after an hour of struggle I was able to change him. I was amazed that his mean comments and lack of appreciation did not get to me. This man is sick and pathetic.

Things slowly got better as he became more comfortable with me. Richie would listen to me and was amazingly cooperative. After three days of watching him nonstop, I had to see Olivia and find out what money my father has. I had been calling a variety of homes but realized the issue was in how he could afford care. I certainly can’t afford to contribute.

Olivia was happy to see me. I tried to explain the predicament, but Olivia in her old age, couldn’t understand what was going on. I knew it was pointless. I registered his bank account online to see what was going on. I discovered that over the last six months Olivia and Sherry had withdrawn over $28,000 from his account leaving him with nothing. The agency that I had contracted to take care of my father, the one that employs Sherry, had stated around that time someone had called to cancel his home visits.

When I asked Olivia what was going on she pointed to Suzy, my father’s youngest sister, who was now controlling Olivia and her finances. WTF? Suzy is a bitch and never cared about anyone but herself. We assume it was Suzy that encouraged Olivia to withdrawal the money. I left a few messages to Suzy with no response.

Since I unraveled this horrible scheme to (in my opinion) bleed my father dry and leave him to die, I’ve been doing everything to protect him. After days of phone calls I have filed a complaint with Adult Protective Services, petitioned to become his conservator, and placed him where he is receiving proper care. This was not easy.

Now, in the midst of an elder abuse case and an empty bank account, I’m trying to put the pieces back to my own life. When I went back to work after missing almost two weeks I was touched by the many coworkers who were concerned for me. Despite my horrible pay, there are not many jobs that will let you miss two weeks of work and come back without question.

Today, on my day off, I look at the beautiful sunlight outside and wish I had the motivation to go for a hike or a walk outdoors. I don’t. I’m drained emotionally and keeping up with the demands of my father’s care has taken my spark. I’m on reserve power and trying my best to regenerate. The crazy thing is, this is just the beginning.

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Health & Beauty

Posted on March 5, 2012 by

It’s been a rough few weeks. One of my last blogs, I was dreaming of detoxification and replenishment. I made it to Sedona. But it was the catalyst to one of the most stressful weeks in years. I’m drained. I’m wore down.

With preparation I believed I had an arsenal to take on life and forge my way to changes. I was to forget my mediocre job and measly salary. Things are bad when I look to my past with more opportunity than my future. I haven’t had an easy life. I’m not trying to be cryptic. However, I have deep feelings that are floating around in my head not ready to come out.

Instead, I’ll offer a summation of the string of chaos that has me feeling like shit on the outside as well.

About two weeks ago I went to my stylist for a simple trim. I love my hair and only stop in for maintenance. Even though I’m fairly young, I’ve had my stylist for almost twenty years. We’ve seen each other grow into the divorcees we are today. Jason was not the wizard with shears I’ve come to love. He turned my request for Zooey Deschanel into Rooney Mara. I’m Asian! I’m a sick cross between Bjork and Bai Ling. I feel like a running joke that won’t grow fast enough! Headbands and pony tails mask me from total embarrassment.

Then I went to get my facial regime. I’m trying to match the great esthetician I left in Santa Cruz (TRA MI Skin Care). Sadly, it’s my fondest memory of the lazy beach town. My faith in the wrong hands has fried my skin. I’m not used to dry, tight skin. My skin is soft and oily. Imperfect as it is, it is my fountain of youth. I attribute that affliction to my youthful glow. It’s gone! Being in Arizona and Nevada for the last week only made it worse!

To make matters worse, I’ve had no time for myself or my restful sleep. On an average day, I have at least one hour to myself for indulgence. I also average about 10 hours of sleep. I know you zombies think that is excessive. I’ve never been average. Besides, I think this timetable is the only reason I haven’t been institutionalized (kidding – no pity cards). I’m pretty high-strung and need to keep busy. Keep in mind I do my own nails. If you know me, they are another one of my prized traits.

Now that reminds me of the worst of my recent beauty setbacks. Remember that night I went out dancing and had my purse stolen? Not only did I lose that, but I lost a major part of one of my big toes. Both of them were hurt that night breaking in my new boots, and one (sniff, sniff), decided to start all new. This is the first time in my life that I have not had pretty toes. It will be about a year before I can wear my open toes without being self-conscience. If I see you, control your gaze down until I’m not paying attention. It’s a sensitive subject.

Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not vain about my appearance. I’m just used to certain things being a certain way. This is beyond humbling. I’m mortified that life is kicking my ass because I always prided myself on being one step ahead.

You can understand why I must conserve. It also explains why the Hermit, the Fool and the Hanged Man have shrouded me for months. I tell myself to keep faith and be patient. The worst has got to be behind me. For the record I haven’t done a reading in over a month because I’m sick of the same results. Maybe this next full moon or spring equinox will bring me good fortunes. I’ll pray for it and believe.

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The Pulse IS Unstable

Posted on February 18, 2012 by

I’ve been disconnected from media. I’ve been disconnected. Clearing out my DVR, I watched the February 20th episode of Fashion Police. The story may be out there, but I had to share my thoughts on Joan’s normal tirade of the famous.

Joan has been around all my life. When she asked, I wanted to talk. Her humor and edge make her a comedic icon. That’s why I’m a Ranger.

This time, her critique on Whitney and Ray-J wasn’t funny. If Whitney were alive and breathing I may have laughed. After watching parts of her funeral this morning, I couldn’t help but feel sad.The horse voice of a legend may have been exaggerated. I’m sure her upcoming return was met with fear. Hadn’t she learned from Michael?

I wondered if Joan’s comments sent Whitney into a tizzy. Her desperate attempt to gain attention by being seen with Brandy’s brother was counter productive. I don’t care if he slept with KK or had a show on cable network. He’s a joke. Just ask The Soup. Whitney has been under scrutiny before and seems unaffected.

Was it that she stopped taking illegal drugs and started taking legal ones?

Over recent years drug overdoses have surpassed dying of natural cause in the headlines of celebrities. Take Elizabeth Taylor’s sad passing. Even that is in question because she battled addiction most of her life. Heath Ledger was found dead, and alone with his prescriptions? Amy Winehouse’s public meltdown turned breakdown? Michael Jackson paid for full time care and died under his watch.

Do we blame the doctors? Do we blame the addiction? Do we blame the media? Do we blame the fallen? From my vantage point it’s a deadly combination.

Ironically, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade is on and I see a young, and innocent, River Phoenix. He was my first overdose. Can Whitney please be my last? I beg that this doesn’t become a common headline in my celebrity news. I’m really sad about all these losses.

If Britney, Christina, or Lindsay were to OD today, I would say that is as predictable as the ones listed above. They, too, are riding a slippery slope. So please celebrities, if can’t handle your fame, please, please, get out of the spotlight.

Also, Demi Moore get your shit together! Do not let Ashton take away your self esteem. Take it from a cougar, you do not need a young man, or any man for that matter, by your side to validate you. You are beautiful. I beg that you stop your obsession with status and go back to Idaho to prepare for your next comeback. Make us all proud @MissMooreMovesOn!

Before I wrap let me ask, what happened to Nicole Ritchie on Fashion Star? Was she too intellectual that she made Jessica look bad? It’s a shame because I was looking forward to the duo. I have admitted that I am ashamed of liking some of Jessica’s shoes. She’s in good company with Santana and Fergie.

Instead I get another boring model that plays safe. I’m sorry, but we are 50/50 when it comes to models being hosts: Heidi + Iman = Freaks + Hotties does not equal Angela + Elle = Cue Cards + D List. Although male designers give s a closer race with Michael Kors + Issac Mizrahi + Kenneth Cole. Yes, Mizrahi is there because he fondled Scarlet Johanson’s boob on the red carpet (not for his long collaboration with Target). One thing I am sure of is Jessica’s lack of fashion sense and a great PR team.

I’m sure I’ll have more to say on both matters.

Let me end by sharing my excitement on my upcoming annual trip to Sedona for some detox. I hope the changing gears will get me to lower my RPMs. I’m revving in neutral. Lord knows I need an oil change. Let’s hope that my batteries are charged and my spark plugs ignite. I’ll let you know about the ride, promise. Funny, you are probably thinking this is a sexual innuendo. It’s not. More so, I’m trying to point out I am in need of a pit stop to recalibrate. I’m not always filthy.

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Kim Kardashian Gives Love a Bad Name

Posted on January 30, 2012 by

There are a few celebrities that I have formed strong opinions about. One of them is Kim Kardashian. After seeing the finale of her New York stay, they are now stronger.

First off, let me clarify that I am not jealous of KK. I don’t want to look like I am sucking something sour 24/7. Despite what some men like, I do not want my ass disproportionate to my body. More importantly, I do not want to be driven by fame and glamour. I’ve seen KK in person and she is not as nice as she claims to be.

The only reason I’m making time to write about a person who is of public interest is to point out how we are often caught up in the media spin. Kim is not a celebrity. A celebrity is someone who is celebrated by the public for their merits. Besides a series of pin ups, why should we celebrate KK’s body of work? Oh yeah, most rather celebrate her body.

After only 72 days KK filed for divorce. Curious as the next, I watched the relationship unravel with intensity.  I began this process open minded. Yes, there were many cut scenes, or much that went on behind closed doors. Still, it is hard to mask the truth.

I am fully aware of what it is like to marry a man that you are unsure of. I, too, married a man that I didn’t fully know to follow my dream. I also jumped in and expected the tides to change. For that they both gained my sympathy.

My ex husband and Kris have a lot in common. Kris is a meat head. Kris ignores sensitive topics because he lacks the depth of being in touch with his own feelings or the ability to express them. Not an unusual trait for men. Kris, like all of us, is not perfect.

Let’s start from the beginning. Upon arrival to New York KK put huge pressures on her new husband to come up with a plan for parenting and living situations. She expected her husband to jump in to whatever whims she had come up with. From the beginning KK proved herself to be unsure of what she wanted, but demanded that her feelings were put into consideration. Yet, she weighed more heavily on the advice of her family and the demands of her career.

Over the course of the following episodes, I laughed as every time the cameras were on KK she was either crying or stuffing her mouth (mostly stuffing). This brought great amusement to me. Despite Kris changing his life to fit into hers, he stayed true to his priorities of being an athlete, while trying to assimilate as a member of the Kardashian clan.

In the end, KK made no attempt to really deal with the strife that had grown between them. She obsessed with what was wrong with him and never noticed what was wrong with her. Not once was she open and honest about what she was feeling. Not once did she communicate what she needed from him to make the marriage work.

You may wonder why I care so much about this. Well, my own failed marriage makes me curious to learn the right and wrong way to be in a committed relationship. Although I had the same concerns as KK, I told my ex almost religiously of my needs and what he could do to make things better for me.

I also incorporated his needs into my routine to show my level of commitment. I’m not talking about cancelling a few appearances. I left a job that offered excitement and a nice salary. I moved to a city which I knew I hated. I stopped smoking and using any recreational substances. Everyday in my marriage I tried new things to enliven our relationship. I poured my money into him, and our home hoping all these acts of dedication would remedy the situation.

When KK says “I tried,” I call bullshit. For example, when her sister-in-law was in town, she did not make an effort to spend time with her. KK blamed the tension between her and Kris, yet made no effort to have one on one time with her in-law. That was rude.

In the last few episodes, KK had plenty of opportunities to express her unhappiness to Kris, instead she distanced herself and began to fixate on what was missing. Uh, honesty and communication was missing. Why was it so easy to tell her sisters how unhappy she was in the marriage, yet didn’t have the same conversation with her husband.

KK made no effort. I hope this shame and embarrassment keeps her out of the limelight. Whether you agree with me or not, look at the example she had made to all the young women who look up to her. Not only do they have to spend hours fixating on their physical appearance and covering their many flaws, they have to give up when it gets tough. Kim Kardashian is a disgrace.

As for the rest of the Kardashian’s… I’m happy for Kourtney and Scott and the coming addition to their family. Let’s hope they get one parents looks, not the weird mix like Mason. I hope Khloe gets to be a mother. I’m doubtful, but would like to see Rob get a life. The matriarch, Kris, really needs to retire and stop being a stage mom (who has taken the stage).

Before I end I want to make a comment on all these celebrity couples that have recently ended. Please stop making these women look like victims. Like JLo and her choice of a controlling husband, she knew what she was doing. Katy Perry married a mad man, duh! I haven’t read the article on Heidi and Seal, but I can’t imagine he was that bad.

In my opinion a victim is someone unknowing or unwilling to participate. Even though my ex belittled me and took advantage of my generosity, I was not a victim. I was just plain stupid! We are adults. Take some responsibility!

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May I See? It Could Be Me?

Posted on January 29, 2012 by

I’ve had another day from hell. This time, instead of complaining, I will think about what I had done to contribute. I’ve got to make it better.

prayBy taking this mediocre job, I thought it would humble me and allow me to learn new skills. It has. The cost has been my honest spirit and uncertainty in my worth. All for less than I what I made on unemployment. How’s that for irony?

I’m sure there are many out there with similar stories. The cash flow dwindles and you get caught in the struggle only to find so many there before you. I’m not trying to speak metaphorically. My misfortunes are mild in comparison to fates of many others.

juggleFor example, on my last mentoring session, I learned that a young woman was unable to walk around her neighborhood without being accosted or in fear. She is a bit overweight and I can see how difficult options are to stay active. She hides in the confines of her family’s small apartment. What do I have to complain about?

Most of the women I work with have to work multiple jobs to make ends meet. That is with dual income. Some of these poor souls, and others, have parenting to juggle in. At least they have that joy.

I suppose I’m pensive because I was called rude. I’m generally pleasant and easy-going in the workplace. The only time the claws come out is when I am disrespected in front of others. No one is allowed to take away my integrity. I’m well aware that I have that.

pensiveThis comment came after a series of unimportant events. After much frustration from both my a colleague and myself, I felt attacked in front of customers for her oversight. This is my version of it. She, on the other hand, probably wasn’t paying attention enough to recognize it. I rebuffed, “you needs to pay attention”. Moving on I can hear the echo of “How rude!” It didn’t matter who it came from. I immediately worked on getting my heart rate and body temperature down.fighting

Now you may think that I was rash and deserved the comment. Perhaps from the outside eye it is true. But when I run circles around the workload of others, or lack there of, they will not stay on my good side.

Another thing I’ve learned in the short period of retail torments, the alpha always wins. I’m simplifying the role of alpha. Yes, the rule applies to all environments as Darwin proclaimed. But, in my new ring of fire, the laws are prevalent. I suppose my late association is due to the fact that I have historically been in support roles. I prefer to help others shine. There is something in me which is better suited off the lime light.

defendFor the first time in my career history, I feel a sense of competition that is not personal. (I’ve mentioned that I generally have at least one coworker that makes me feel like I have to watch my back). Here, in this new role, I don’t have a back to watch and not a single person who is watching mine. We are all watching out for ourselves. I believe this is why I can hate my job.

omThe best remedy I’ve come up with for my aversion is to tattoo is OM on my hand as a constant reminder of my aspirations. That is a too extreme. I don’t have any tattoos.

nirvanaFor all the tech genius out there I have a request. Can you make an app that let’s me know when I am faltering? Wouldn’t that be an amazing invention? I’m not talking about entering in actions to search against a database. I want intuitive detection. It’s probably out there in deep research or testing.

Once again, there’s no reliant solution currently available. Don’t tell me this is only attained after lifetimes of practice, like nirvana. I need a practical course of action now. How to a rise above the bullshit, ignore the pettiness, and remain true to myself?

dullI’m a firecracker. I go off when I’m touched by fire. Do not suggest drugs like behavioral medicine. That is dulling. Doctors will say that it will improve the quality of life. Like everything else, they are short-term solutions to long-term problems.  If I’m going to do drugs, they will be recreational. Laugh. Sigh.

Honesty and awareness have been my only saving grace. It’s not enough. Exercise, meditation, and now reflection are the culmination to my wretched day. No answers. More questions.

tranquilMy overactive mind needs rest. Even the few instances that I make time for meditation, It doesn’t provide rest. Yes, I know I’m doing it wrong. It’s part of my path. The rumble of my noisy city doesn’t let the silence set in. I’m too caught up in the vacuum and the current is stronger than I am.

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The First Cut is the Deepest

Posted on January 25, 2012 by

Since I am still figuring out the present, I thought I would tell you a story of my past. Today, I visited a spa in Koreatown. The drive down old streets like Normandie reminded me of the first man to break my heart.

ostraAt sixteen I was ostracized by all my friends because my first love, Glen, broke up. Our clique blamed me for keeping Glen away from the boys. Little did these jealous boys know that Glen was pussy whooped. Who could blame him? He took my virginity and unleashed a drive in me that was hard to tame.

Being exiled by my tiny Catholic school, I branched out to the rivals. I wanted to get away from the small minded valley boys. I got a boyfriend in West Covina named Regan. My new circle of friends grew and I knew the whole Filipino circuit from Canoga Park to West Covina.

abuseRegan and I weren’t doing well. At a party Regan, unbeknownst to me, was high as a kite. I later learned that Regan had developed a bad coke habit. It made sense after thinking about his constant dry mouth and bad breath. Somehow or another I refused to go with Regan that night. Regan in a sudden rage grabbed me and threw me against the bar.

Feeling a bit dizzy from trust, a cute boy named Mikey stepped up to Regan to ensure my safety. I’d known Mikey for awhile now. He was a Casanova. All the girls adored him with his big dimples and fancy dance moves. I hadn’t really paid much attention to him up to that point.

youngSoon after Mikey and I were an item. This was the first time I had met my match. Mikey was an excellent liar. He could sweet talk anyone. My parents loved him. We were partners in crime. Also, his mother was never home and he had a freedom that I admired. I should have smelled something fishy when he gave me mono.

threatBeing with Mikey was not easy. He had a slew of exes that didn’t like how committed we were. I was an easy target. It snowballed till I once again was excluded from my new inner circle. This kind of thing had been happening since Jr. High. For some reason I always attracted boys who were off limits. Back in my younger years I got my ass kicked numerous times for guys I wasn’t even interested in. Jealousy is ugly. ass kicked

Jumping out of another bad situation I changed schools for a third time and started hanging out in Silver Lake. This was before Silver Lake was cool. I remained with Mikey but our intensity lessoned. We were on and off for months. Although I dated and screwed around, I missed Mikey .

By my senior year Mikey tells me he is transferring to the school I left 1.5 years prior. It was a school I hated. But I felt that most of the rift raft had graduated and Mikey by my side, I couldn’t be too bad.

cheaterWithin a month or two, Mikey began cheating on me with some innocent sophomore, Susan. Ironically, Whitney Houston had just released her single, “My Name is Not Susan”, which became the anthem of heartache.

After all the struggles Mikey and I had overcome to end like this? I was devastated. Up until that time I got almost every guy I wanted. (I’m not being conceited but guy in adolescence are hard up.) I was always the one calling the shots and feeling in control.

nara fireThis blow to my ego set me in a tailspin. Shortly thereafter I dropped out of high school and began working full time. Even as I look back now, I can’t see anything good my high school years offered. Sure I was smart and popular. At the same time, I was driven by my dumb decisions and knack for turning the world against me.

Those years truly hardened me. Instead of fighting all the time, I stopped caring. I also removed the Asian invasion from my circle of friends and began rolling with the Mexicans. hardThat leads to another string of mishaps. For those of you who have never lived in a metropolis like LA, you may not understand my cultural referenced. When you grow up in neighborhoods as tough as mine, you learn to pick a side. With my biracial background, my looks allowed me to pick and choose.

Anyways, even though I dropped out of high school I began taking classes at the local community college. As dumb as I was, I knew knowledge was my ticket out. I concurrently attended adult school to earn my diploma while maintaining a full time job. I paid hard for my mistakes. Even after all these lessons, I continue to make mistakes in which I struggle with. All I know is that Mikey was my first, and favorite, mistake.

 

The First Cut is the Deepest, lyrics by Cat Stevens
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Call Me Poached!

Posted on January 17, 2012 by

It’s been a long freakin’ day and I can’t go to bed with these thoughts. I hope that writing it down will help me make sense of things and give me a sense of release. Others might call it venting.

To start my day, I realized that my dear friend has been blowing me off for who knows what. When I tried to clarify she told me to call her to discuss. With less than two hours away to work that was a reactive NO. Why would I want to call and hear what I did to disappoint her? Don’t get me wrong, I love my friend, but I wasn’t in the mood for criticism. I honestly did nothing wrong that would justify her being pissed.

bossThen I arrive to work with my game face and ready to act happy in a pretty toxic environment. Busy at work, I get pulled aside on the sales floor by my manager, Vicky, who has been off for almost a week. Vicky immediately digs into me about calling out for a third night of inventory. Yes, this new career of mine thought it was acceptable to make me pull an all nighter to count their losses.

After the second night, under Vicky’s supervision, I realized that no amount of money could make me return to that. From what I’ve been told, it was the worst inventory in recorded history. I quickly defended my action by failing to excuse the inefficiency and lack of direction offered by management. To make matters worse, two others from my department quit on that night. By association I was also to blame. It was ridiculous. With every strength I refrained from telling Vicky, in a not so diplomatic way, to go fuck herself.

sadI went outside had a smoke and a cry. I was prepared to return to tender my resignation. No sooner than I can say HR Vicky pulls me aside, now in a comfortable, private environment, to discuss my future and offer me what she referred to as a greater opportunity. WTF? Sybil, I mean Vicky, had shifted gears so quickly that I was caught off guard. Tomorrow I am suppose to tell her of my interest, or lack thereof. I’m just holding on enough to get my free designer jeans.

Then, a cute cub that I hung out with before strolls in. He was there filling out paperwork. He made an effort to come upstairs to tell me about his new place and job. Somehow in the process he managed to give me a hug, which I found very confusing. This is an adorable boy who turned down my booty call because his life was too complicated. Yes, he asked for a rain check, but I thought he was being polite. Still, if he thought my booty call was complicated then he probably hasn’t had a good one. I give points for experience. He lost his.

squeezeI’m almost done with my shift when ring ring my ex is buzzing. Over the last month he has brought his naturalization to my attention. This stupid man thought I would support his independent petition (after I withdrew the joint). After his pestering and incessant need to ask my help I finally opened my eyes to see that it was never friendship he had offered since our break. He wanted me in his back pocket so I offer benefit to him. He crossed the line when he asked me to borrow our photo album to show at his next interview. I told myself it was the last time I was going to feel used by him. So, after less than two weeks, he has no shame to ask me for help. As minor as it was, I had a point to make. I am no longer accepting his deposits or withdrawls.

Instead of offering detailed information and a kind response, I was curt and honestly not interested in whatever he had to say. I felt shitty enough. No need to take another roll in it. Then, once again, the world has to mess with me once more. He invites me out for drinks and says he’s down the street. He lives over the hill and only makes appearances in the valley for haircuts. I was not naïve enough to think it was a coincidence he needed something from me. I know this man. He too was trying to make a point. Too bad I stopped listening.

strengthAfter a simple and quick NO he apologized and went after my apathy. Instead of biting I said, “No worries, I’m just not interested. Have a great night.” He and I speak a secret code and he knew that meant I was no longer open for business.

Besides, I had just put a pizza in the oven and smoked a bowl. My day was finally turning around and in no reality would hanging out with him keep it that way. As much as I need a lay, he wasn’t worth it. A sense of pride and strength was felt, and that quickly the thought of him was gone.

poachedYes, life has a way of balancing itself out. My concern is that it took me being an angry bitch for it to get that way. I spent a month in Santa Cruz trying to get rid of the “edge” I’m so often accused of. Through out the Fall it was gone. But as Winter freezes my ass, so does my heart. I had this stupid metaphor of an egg hardening on the inside after being thrown into boiling water. I’m still gooey on the inside.

I’m struggling more and more with my loathing of Los Angeles. I keep daydreaming that by next year I will be somewhere that offers greener fields and less blue skies. I’m reaching my max… I have a track record of turning my life upside down every three years. It’s like clockwork. Let me review:

movingAt: 21 I moved to San Diego, 24 New Jersey, 27 Sacramento, 30 Newport Beach, 33 Sedona, 36 Europe, 39 ? I have a year to figure it out. Now you can extrapolate why, despite my abundant qualifications, my résumé isn’t a crowd pleaser. This pattern was a major reason I opted for marriage. I needed to break the cycle.

To add further insult to injury I found myself relating to Ben of Parks and Recreation. After these months of occupying my time benand indulging in my hobbies have I fallen into a veil if depression. You may think that is a stupid question, but I know depression. When I am depressed I isolate and begin to think of things as a drag. OMG, now that I say that it might be time to give Bev a call. Am I so caught up in my retail nightmare, or my string of failed lovers, that I was to dumb to see the obvious? Did you know? When could you tell?

I’m really screwed!

Dead and Gone
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My American Dream

Posted on January 12, 2012 by

THINKERThis is the first two days I’ve had to myself since November. That’s a long time for me. I thankfully went from doing to planning. Slowing down and reflecting is something that has eluded me. I’m so caught up in having a life, I’ve forgotten what life I wanted.

It amazing how quickly things shift. In my case, I’m still figuring things out. I know in my heart that I have to work to change things. The pace in which things are ABEprogressing are far too slow. Ideas are bountiful. Plans are easily imagined. For what? I’ve lost sight in the goal.

Priority one is get out of debt. Debt and I don’t sit well together. This past year is the first debt I’ve accumulated in over 15 years. As minor as it is, it looms over me. I’m torn between doing what I want or doing what I have to. We are all caught with the same question daily. In the past there has never been a struggle. In those days I thought what I had was what I wanted.

americandreamTake my career. I didn’t attend college and opted to join the workforce as soon as I could. By 18 I dropped out of high school and had a full-time job. It paid nothing and my responsibilities were limited. I learned my hard work and smarts accelerated opportunities. I think the rules have changed.

Keep in mind, I’m in my 20’s and working for corporations that employ a large workforce that runs off a sales. I would never knowingly join such an organization. My preference lies with emerging growth. I like companies going somewhere, not those that are looking back to their legacy.

 

RatRaceDEADSTORE

BABYThese days I’m in a retail rat race. My store waves low cost cheese varieties.  I’m judged on a variety of performance indicators: sales, floor recovery, fitting room management, go-backs, and opening credit accounts. In the old days, I would be pitching these credit accounts like they were gold. Instead, I simply don’t care their form of payment as long as they are happy with the merchandise. The best part of my day is when a woman is able to purchase an item that makes her feel amazing. That’s the only reason I’m still there.

MONEY TREEWAGEcrosses

With no growth opportunity, and an income that I can’t use to support myself. I must wonder what my next move is. Like in the Summer, when I had not clue what would happen. In a months time, I set up shop and began to sell my good directly to the public. That didn’t last long as I really hadn’t considered failure on my first attempts. I need more insight. I remembered that talent alone won’t pay the bills. I need a plan, a good plan.

dreamingReverting to my writing is a nice reprieve. I’ll be the next Diablo Cody. Yesterday I designed some t-shirts. I’ll be the next Ed Hardy.  the day before I made some jewelry. I’ll be the next Judith Leiber. My creativity has failed to generate any leads. Sure, I could sell out. All I had to do is recount one of my many dreams that awaken me in shock and concern.

My great mentor once told me I have to be great at one thing, and good at the rest. What is my one thing? This sounds like a topic for meditation, but who knows when I’ll get around to sitting on the mat. I’m back in LA, chaotic as hell, and trying to create my vision.

STRONGWith this new challenge of thought, how do I pick a focus. I wonder if the many who have found their way knew it instantly or did it come to them over time and failures? I’ve had successes. I’ve had failures. I’ve worked hard for both.

So now what do I want to work for? It’s not to keep my mortgage or comfortable lifestyle. I would give it up if I had directions. All my cards keep telling me is to keep working hard.

If a great artist told me to leave everything and be their apprentice/assistant I wouldn’t need to much time to pack. All the material I have time accumulated means as much as the money that bought it.

Don’t misunderstand, I like nice things. I’ve been blessed enough that I’ve usually had them throughout my life. I purge every so often and start all over again. Isn’t that the American dream? There has to be more. What’s your American dream? And don’t give me some romantic bullshit. You can’t live on love alone.

MARX

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Love My Way

Posted on January 8, 2012 by

I’ve wondered what has kept me away. Why do I draft posts and leave them unpublished? Perhaps it’s the uncertainty in which I feel things. Nothing is sure in my life. I don’t know where I want to be. The only thing I do know is who I am. The shocking revelations that dawn upon me regularly keep me questioning if I even know that. The doubt is overwhelming, like the cigarettes I fill into my lungs. In this quest to regain my power, have I forgotten what that meant?

This new year has brought an abundance of opportunity, not in the conventional way. I’m constantly interacting with people. I seldom find myself alone. I like being alone. Why do I have to pretend to have the social norms taught in schools and churches? I’ve cracked out of that shell years ago. Why do many say that is the key to happiness?

I blame the movie I just watched, What’s Your Number. It’s about a girl, Ally, who recounts her lovers and finally puts an end to the meaningless sex. Based on the reported research the average sex partners a woman has is 10.5. l must be a cat because I will probably live nine lives (midlife X 2).

It’s funny how funny that number can grow when you just stop counting. I think the last time I tried to remember all the names was over a decade ago. I had troubles then. Not because there were many, because they were so insignificant. Real intimacy has been far and few. That’s why I don’t look for it in sex. I want to enjoy sex, not stalk it.

Back to the story – Ally reverts to her past lovers in search for answers. She finds herself longing for the present. In her case, it’s the sexy slut across the hall. In mine, it’s the illusion of love and happiness. Why?

My ex and I almost made our divorce official. Some mix up with my benefits and I would finally return to Ms. I don’t hang on to our marriage for him. It’s what it offers. In this case, full benefits and 65% of his paychecks. It’s not what I asked for. Well, maybe it is. It’s definitely what I deserve. Does that sound like the words of a scorned woman? I’m not!

I won’t deny that I still hurt over my failed marriage. When I think of it, I don’t look to the man I married. I remember the dream I furnished to sign on the dotted line. I didn’t get married in a church, or in front of my loved ones. We ran off and told only a few. I concocted this romantic ceremony in Northern California. Even though no one was there I still cared about how it looked. Like our announcement it was too choreographed. What could I say, I was proud, and for a brief time, happy?

There was doubt ever since the first time he told me he loved me. I kept looking for an image. Throughout my 20’s I heard that I needed a man to have a family. No one considered the one I was born with. As I approached 30, the yearning for motherhood hit into high gear. This was another reason I became celibate. I thought I was waiting for Mr. Right. Instead, I received constant reminders of what I didn’t like.

I finally stopped checking off the list and dove into the first man who attracted me. A real physical attraction, one I had not experienced before. This was a new uncontrolled desire for all the things I imagined. I made excuses for what was missing, telling myself I was too harsh. I gave value where, in a marriage, those attributes weren’t the best measuring tool.

Although I was saddened by our break, I was never surprised. One other of my long-term relationships, Joe from Jersey, was similar with different circumstances. When I met Joe I had nothing. I moved as far from LA as I could. I was broke, unemployed, and in debt. In Philly, to be exact, I met a geeky scientist who was nothing like I had seen before. He had an awkward sense about him. I didn’t know it then, but I helped him out of a really bad part of his life and gave him tons of confidence and opportunity.

In return, Joe got me out of debt and tried to fulfill all my demands. Being in my early 20’s I was possessive and insecure about commitment. He was the first man I cheated on. He was the only one who ever caught me.  When Joe left me, I fell apart because I felt I ruined something that could have been special. Joe forgave me but he never forgot. And, it was never special.

In the end, we both gained from our relationship. Like most of my exes, Joe made stupid mistakes when we were finally apart. I imagine he is somewhere back in Jersey. At least that is what I want to believe. I wanted to rid him so much that I moved 425 miles away. Even though Joe followed me, he never got back into my heart. The same is true for my ex husband.

My friend reminded me that I have no boundaries with my ex. I admit, I still can’t resist him now, physically that is. Once in awhile he’ll say something is bad idea. I don’t take it as rejection. Maybe I am wrong. I think he is scared because he still sees the image. It’s not me. It’s the idea. He is more alone that I am. I’m fortunate to have family and friends nearby. My ex says he has friends, but my gut says they are co-workers he joins for an occasional beer. He has a way about him that is isolating. It’s a cultural thing.

His Eastern European mentality allows him to act offensively. Sorry, it is a stereotype that is well deserved. Try living in a country that has been seized more times than we Americans have seized. His country once ruled Europe now it’s slowly emerging from a blockade that crippled it’s economy and hope. It won’t be until the next generation that they will be lifted from the darkness. Even then, you always have to worry about the gypsies. You always have to worry about the gypsies.

I’ve probably lost those of you who haven’t left the country. Doesn’t matter. I’m not trying to prove my ex was one way or another. I’m full of shit. He’ll paint a very different portrait of our marriage. Just ask his immigration officer.

After rambling one again on a tangent, I will try to end with a point. Love is not an image. It is actions. Very few are ready for action. Far fewer are prepared for it. There is no map. No magazine article or psychology course will help you understand. It’s the happy thoughts you have when they are gone, and the joyful memories you create when you are together.

I’ve been in love. I’ve been loved. But never both at the same time. Thanks for believing in me.

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